This past December, I was diagnosed with Stage II invasive ductal carcinoma (IDC) — breast cancer.

This is my fourth cancer diagnosis.

I still can’t believe it, even as I type that out. I naively thought I had “paid my cancer dues” and have (rightfully) chosen to live my life with very little concern for the “what-ifs” ever since.

Because I've already had so much chemo and radiation, I do not fall into any standard treatment plan for this breast cancer diagnosis. I have been forced to balance the toll that treatments have already taken on my body with the likelihood of recurrence.

I've tried my very best to construct a unique plan that takes my unique situation into consideration. 4 months, 4 medical oncologists, 3 specialized cardiologists, 2 surgeons, 1 nephrologist, 1 psychologist and LOTS of research later… I’m finally ready to move forward with my hand-picked team of experts from around the country. I feel confident in my chosen treatment plan- but much of it falls outside of typical insurance coverage.

In January, I underwent a bilateral mastectomy as my first line of treatment. I am now working in tandem with my doctors at the Cleveland Clinic alongside a naturopathic oncologist, and will undergo a tailored chemotherapy approach in June.

Our insurance covers most, but not all, of my medical care. I started this campaign to help with the critical parts of my treatment plan that unfortunately fall outside of insurance coverage, including naturopathic oncology appointments, supportive therapies, treatment recommendations, and cold-capping.

Cold-capping is a newer option available to me that may help preserve my hair during chemotherapy. I honestly feel I’ve already given up so much to cancer over the years… if I can hold onto this one piece of myself, I would really love that. Cold-capping alone costs approximately $ 450 per month to rent the equipment plus $525 per treatment, of which I will need 6.

Any small sense of normalcy throughout treatment is incredibly valuable to me. I have to consider my son, Luciano, when making these difficult decisions.

He doesn’t fully know what cancer is, but we did explain my surgery to him. (In unfiltered 8-year-old language: I “had my boobs chopped off.”)

More than anything in the world, I just want to continue being the mom he knows and loves (which involves mostly holding down my side of the Cleveland vs. New York sports rivalry in this household).

The treatment plan I have chosen gives me the best shot at doing that.

I also know I can’t do this alone.

Every donation, share, and message of encouragement helps me on that path.

And if I can say one final thing: I would really love for this to be the last f*cking time!

Thank you for your support.